Never Have I Ever (Drank Alcohol Illegally)

[Sicila O'Dair]

Boxes upon boxes were stacked high in all places of the storage room. At first, to the casual observer, the arrangement would appear to be random; piles here, piles there, there was no pattern to the lot. But to Mathew Darrison, a metaphorically card-carrying level-five-started-out-in-level-three 14-year-old drug dealer of Megaera House, the boxes were placed in a very specific manner. Specifically, they served as a visual obstacle and physical maze, blocking him and his little group from sight and (in the event that someone unwelcome should enter), giving them time to get away. Provided, of course, those around him also knew how the boxes were stacked and could negotiate the maze easily.

The time was 2230, just a half hour before the nightly eleven bells would sound to mark curfew, and Mathew had no intention of returning to his barracks. He had put the word out a week ago to a few ears, and imagined that the rumors had spread to more than that because, you see, this was a night of celebration.

“Happy birthday to me,” Mathew laughed as though it were the best joke in the world and he poured everyone around him a drink.

The cups were stolen from the chow hall, one or two at a time over the past month. The liquor, some sort of fiery beverage in an enormous bottle without a label, he wouldn’t say where he got, claiming, “You’re all be’er off not fucking knowing, trust me.”

Birthdays, not widely regarded or celebrated in Furiae, now were occasionally actually marked, and sometimes not violently; today, for example, Mathew had received a tiny piece of cake from a tight-lipped Warden, who made him eat the entire thing right then in under ten seconds. Which he had done, might he add, the fucking bitch.

The game, which would likely deteriorate over the course of the evening into something else, probably something that was going to get them all into trouble, was Never Have I Ever. As everyone was well aware, you drank if you had done the thing that the speaker claimed to have not done. Mathew naturally went first, saying grandly, “Alright fuckheads, never have I ever killed a guy.”

Ha. That was so low. He grinned widely, waiting.

[Abyssinius Turner]

Abyssinius (known to his friends as Abie) Turner had never done anything like this before. Drinking, for one. Sneaking out at night, for another. It seemed stupid, entirely stupid. And yet, here he was, holding a strong-smelling drink in a basement and in the middle of the damn night. It just came to show that his very educated opinion was correct: that the current prison system on succeeded in worsening criminals and did not , in fact, rehabilitate them. He wanted to say something, but not wanting to upset the various worsened criminals around him, he simply sat there.

When someone had clutched his arm earlier in the week and told him that he would should come down to the basement in the middle of the night on Matthew Darrion's birthday, he figured they would have a cake or something. Feeling rather foolish, Abyssinius waited quietly as the other partiers arrived. He received his cup and felt very anxious as the liquor swirled around in his cup. It was disgusting, but the last thing wanted to do was offend inmates that might potentially be his friends. Did drinking together in the dead of night make someone your friend?

“Alright fuckheads, never have I ever killed a guy.”

Abyssinius winced as Matthew cursed. Abyssinius had never uttered a curse word, much less killed anyone. He looked down at his drink and then up, suddenly, as someone coughed.

"Oh. Is it my turn?" He felt awkward.

"Mmm. Never have I ever... skipped class." He understood the nature of the game. Although he had never smoked pot or drank firewhiskey, he knew that this was a game of strategy and he was going to win.

[Fallon Pollock]

Fallon hadn’t killed a guy, but she had skipped class. It was never any kind of spiteful thing – she just decided to roll over in bed, or hang out in a stairwell, or sit in the infirmary pretending to have cramps. Class just didn’t seem important all of the time. After reading a newspaper article saying that an elderly woman had been hit by unforgivables, choked, and thrown into the river for no discernible reason and nobody was trying to find out why, it was hard to think that sitting through Transfiguration class was important – and it was kind of hard to argue with that. That woman would still be dead if she turned her fork into a stick bug, wouldn’t she? Fallon liked to think that everyone ended up in hell eventually. It was only fair. Transfiguration was not a prerequisite for that particular fate.

She swirled the alcohol around in her cup a bit before taking a small sip. She wasn’t an alchie – not really. She’d come for two reasons – foremost, because she heard that the guy who was running this whole shebang was a drug dealer, and she wanted to get to know his face, just in case anything should, uh, come up. Second of all, she came because of her twisted childhood fantasies. Fallon always kind of thought that if she had a chance to start school again, she’d do better – she’d be more social, maybe, and make an effort to collect a group of friends. Maybe then she’d become more influential and have a better chance of making some small positive change in the world – and god, if this place wasn’t full of people who could use a little enlightenment! When she’d asked Harper to come along, her twin had called her retarded and proceeded to ignore the following fifteen minutes of Fallon’s efforts to change her mind.

“Okay,” Fallon started when she realized she was next up, an impish little grin on her face. “Letsee, tricky,” she started, tilting her head so far to one side in thought it looked like she might fall over. “Never had I everrr….”

Well, what hadn’t she done? The only things that were coming to mind were things she had experienced. It didn’t occur to her at the moment that her complete lack of sexual experience in all aspects of relationships would be extremely helpful in this case. Well, there was a first time for everything.

“…been in love,” she said with a sort of sad, but strangely confident little smile playing about her lips.

[Serpens Venere]

Serpens sighed happily. He wasn't sure why he was here, and couldn't remember quite how he had gotten here, but here had alcohol, and therefore that was where he was going to stay. The game was simple enough, but had started off rather minor in Serpens' opinion. He had in fact killed several guys, which also cheated him out of hitting a guy, breaking into a house, attacking an Auror and a whole host of other interesting things which had culminated in prison. He drank down a full glass of the beverage ostentatiously, announcing his reason to be in Furiae to the circle of other inmates.

Abie's confession was even more boring, though technically Serpens could make the same claim as he had never actually been to school. He'd been home tutored and never quite worked up the guts to barricade himself in his bedroom. He leaned for ward to reach his cup, and was surprised when his hand landed about a foot to the right of where he wanted it to be. wow. He must be drunker than he thought. But he was a lot less drunk than he wanted to be, and therefore very disappointed when he realised the mug was empty. He was cheated out of a refill by Pollock's “Never had I everrr…been in love,”

Serpens growled at his empty mug before lobbing it at Fallon's head, muttering, "Wow, sucks to be you!" He glanced around, realising it was his turn. He grinned devilishly, sober enough to realise he had to get everybody else drunk before he himself passed out.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, before coming up with something he was pretty sure would get everybody to drink.

"Never have I ever...spoken to my mother!" he slurred triumphantly.